Nowhere Bound
by mangochi
Summary: Jim makes good on his promise and takes Spock on a week-long trip to Arizona. Part Two of In Between-verse, but could also be (mostly) read as a stand-alone.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay, since you guys convinced me to do the Arizona road trip, here it is. As an official sequel to In Between. This is quite a bit more lighthearted than In Between, since I want to try my hand at fluffier atmospheres...I write too much depressing stuff... And so I apologized if you feel like there's a bit of a disconnection between the two stories? YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.**

**What's lovely about this is that it still counts as an "in between" scene, because…..well, they had to be doing **_**something**_** during the year before the rechristening of the Enterprise, right? OHOHOHO. Hope you enjoy, I had lots of fun with this one. I must say, writing a setting on Earth after all of the fics I've done in space and random made-up planets is WEIRD. And strangely reassuring, haha. Good old Earth. I also feel like I haven't written enough UST in a while, so this was also quite refreshing.**

**Also, I have never been to the Grand Canyon or Arizona, soooooo um I apologize ahead of time if I make any terrible glaring errors. The extent of my research is pretty much limited to the Internet and general imaginative nonsense, hahaaa. But, hey, this IS set in the future so I can take some creative license, right? Right...?**

**...**

"_**I have never been to Arizona."**_

_Jim was too caught off guard by the unexpected statement to answer, his mouth gaping and closing uncertainly until he hesitantly tried to clarify, "Arizona?"_

"_**As most of my time on Earth has been spent on Starfleet business, I have never taken the opportunity to visit the acclaimed natural spectacles of the planet. I believe there is one such spectacle in the state of Arizona.."**_

_Jim frowned in concentration. He'd never been particularly good at guessing games. "Are you- are you talking about the Grand Canyon?"_

"_**It is not so 'grand', I believe. Vulcan's canyons were much more awe-inspiring."**_

_Jim felt his lips twitch into a slow grin. "Come on, you've never even seen it."_

"_**Perhaps I will visit, afterwards."**_

_Now it was Jim's turn to fall silent. Afterwards. He hadn't even considered the possibility of there being an 'afterwards'. It was one thing to hope, to fight, it was another to think about an 'after'._

"_Tell you what," he said at last. "After this….how about I take you there? We'll make it a road trip, just the two of us." _

Day One

"Are you ready?"

Spock raised his eyes warily to appraise the human before him. Jim was grinning widely, practically bouncing with excitement. He had two duffle bags slung casually over his right shoulder, a helmet tucked under his left arm. There was something strange about seeing the captain in civilian clothing, Spock decided. He looked altogether too relaxed in them; the way the thin shirt and jacket clung to his frame was almost indecent. A pair of amber driving goggles hung about his neck, and it was a lurching reminder of the upcoming ordeal.

"I am uncertain," Spock answered at length, taking one of the bags Jim now proffered to him. The clothes that Jim had provided for him, deeming his customary wear utterly inappropriate for road travel….jeans, he recalled absently, scraped awkwardly against his skin as he moved. It was not an altogether unpleasant feeling, merely unfamiliar, yet it served as another reminder of the strangeness of this situation.

"Aw, come on. This is going to be great," Jim said brightly. He moved past Spock briskly to the motorcycle parked on the side of the road. With a small, indulgent sigh, Spock followed. It had not been long after Jim had been dispatched from the hospital, a scarce three days, in fact, before he had abruptly brought up the subject of the trip. Honestly, Spock had completely put it out of his mind, thinking that it was an unlikely venture. He should have suspected that Jim would defy his expectations yet again.

Of course, he had made the appropriate arguments against the outing. Jim was still recovering. Dr. McCoy would be furious beyond the capabilities of human speech. There was an immense amount of paperwork left to compile, not to mention the delicate situation surrounding his apparent "death" to maintain. Jim had waved away all of Spock's perfectly legitimate protests with his usual flippancy, declaring that he had thoroughly earned himself a week of vacation "that hellhole of a mission," and since he _had _promised Spock a road trip...

"Your enthusiasm is somewhat concerning," Spock commented dryly, eyeing the vehicle before him skeptically. Where Jim had gotten it, and so quickly, he did not know, and neither did he think he wanted to.

Jim chuckled, strapping his duffel to the side of the bike before swinging a leg over and straddling the seat. He balanced on the balls of his feet as he tossed the motorcycle helmet at Spock. Spock caught it neatly, balancing the helmet in his hand doubtfully. "You have only the one," he said accusingly.

Jim shrugged casually. "I'm fine without one."

"That is unacceptable," Spock told him sternly. "This is a severe violation of safety regulations, and-"

"Look, I've done this for half my life, Spock. This is, what, your first time ever? Trust me, you'll need it more than I will. Now come on." Jim bounced impatiently in the seat. "Let's go."

Spock considered protesting again, then resigned himself to the fact that it would only serve to solidify Jim's determination. The helmet was an unfortunate shade of bright pink, a garish monstrosity Spock heavily suspected Jim would not normally possess. He did not know whether to be amused or irritated by this obvious act of provocation and settled on a slightly miffed indifference.

With the air of undertaking a grave task, he put the helmet on over his head, his ears suffering slight discomfort at the unaccommodating confines, and studiously ignored Jim's suspiciously twitching grin. Primly, Spock then set himself to the task of securing his own luggage on the side of the motorcycle, then paused uncertainly at the vehicle's side. Jim patted the seat behind him with an irking grin. "Hop on."

Spock exhaled resignedly and tentatively seated himself behind Jim. The motorcycle dipped and swayed with his weight, the leather creaking beneath him as he settled himself awkwardly. An alarming tilt to the right had him tightening his knees about the sides of the wide seat, reaching out with his hands to-

He did not know what to do with his hands.

As if Jim had sensed this problem, he reached back around without looking and grasped Spock's wrist, pulling it around himself so that it rested flat on his stomach. Spock tensed at the sudden closeness this position brought them to, instinctively trying to pull back as soon as Jim released him.

"You've got to hold on," Jim told him, turning his head to eye Spock reproachfully over his shoulder. "Don't want you falling off or anything."

Spock felt a muscle tic involuntarily at the side of his jaw. "This is not nec-"

"Those are the rules, Spock," Jim's voice lifted in an annoying lilt. "Gotta follow the rules."

Spock took a breath. Then another. Feeling sufficiently stabilized now, he brought his other hand around and placed it tentatively on Jim's side, fingertips resting nervously against his black leather jacket. Tutting, Jim took him by the wrist once more and pulled him forward firmly until Spock's arms were practically wrapped around his waist, his chest bumping against Jim's back.

"Don't argue," Jim said softly, and at this proximity, Spock could feel the rumble of his voice against his chest. Then Jim pulled up his goggles, leaned forward to start the engine, and they were off with a coughing splutter and the smell of exhaust and screeching rubber.

The experience was neither better nor worse than Spock's half-formed expectations. It was loud, it was jolting, the wind harsh and cutting if he did not hide his face behind Jim. Pebbles bounced against the metal of the motorcycle, occasionally pinging off his legs and leaving slight stinging sensations behind.

But it was not all bad, he had to grudgingly admit. There was a certain exhilaration at traveling in open air at such high speeds that somewhat justified Jim's liking for this traditional mode of ground travel. Something primal and fascinating about the howl of the wind and the smell of dust and sunlight. If he was to close his eyes and spread his arms- not an advisable action, by all means- he thought that it would not be unlike flying. Or falling, he supposed, depending on the perspective one took. But his arms remained locked around Jim's waist, and that too was not altogether unpleasant.

The first sharp turn Jim made caught Spock off guard, lost as he was in his contemplations. He automatically pressed closer to Jim, his fingers digging slightly into his abdomen, and thought he felt Jim shudder beneath his palms. Self-consciously, he attempted to loosen his grip, despite every self-preservative instinct telling him not to, and Jim yelled something intelligible into the rushing wind.

Spock was forced to lean over Jim's shoulder to hear. "What was that?" he inquired, raising his own voice. He was not used to having to shout, and the wind rushed down his throat in an odd tickling sensation.

"Hold on tighter back there!" Jim bellowed. If he but turned his head, Spock noticed abruptly, he would be…..they were much closer than he had initially realized. He pulled his head back behind Jim swiftly, obediently tightening his grip.

It was not long after that that he began to become exceeding aware of the intimacy of their positions. Jim's body slouched slightly forward over the motorcycle as he drove, the angle forcing Spock to lean against him in order to maintain his grip around his waist. If he was to relax the slightest degree, he would find his chest completely melded to Jim's back. He therefore stiffened his spine and resolved grimly to hold the position. This proved to be an overestimation of his own physical limits, and as the long minutes passed, he found himself leaning more and more against Jim in a completely unacceptable manner.

He was burningly conscious that his knees were pressing against the sides of Jim's thighs. It was an unavoidable position, but that only seemed to make the matter worse. He was not supposed to be trying to justify this situation. Or enjoying it. Most definitely not the latter.

He found that he disliked the feeling of the wind in his face and made an effort to shield himself behind Jim's head as best as he could. This brought his face discomfortingly close to the back of Jim's neck, the tip of his nose occasionally bumping forward and brushing across the strip of exposed skin over his collar. Jim smelled like sweat and soap and sunlight, and he did not know what to think of the odd, yet not completely displeasing combination.

"You know, we don't have to go straight there and back," Jim remarked, when they paused for a midday respite. Instead of stopping at the nearest town as Spock had anticipated, Jim had simply chugged his way to the side of the road and flung himself down on a patch of grass with a contented groan and stretch. Now he was sitting up, eating a rather crushed sandwich from his bag and licking the last crumbs from his fingers musingly.

Spock sat beside him, running his hand through the short blades of dry grass absently. "What do you propose as an alternative route?" he inquired, when it became evident that Jim was waiting for a response of some kind.

"Well. We've got a week, you know. I figure….we could slow down a bit tomorrow once we hit Nevada, see the country a bit." Jim waved his finger in a vague motion, indicating some sort of circuitous route. "No point in missing out, right?"

Spock honestly had no strong opinion towards the matter, but felt obliged to murmur in agreement. He did not often have the opportunity to see Jim in such a lighthearted mood, after all, and he had no particular dislike towards the thought of viewing more of Earth's natural landscapes. There was little of it left, after all, and where better to begin his observations than an environment that resembled his home planet?

"All right then, we've got a plan." Jim grinned and leaned sideways, jostling Spock in a casual manner that he assumed to be a friendly gesture. There was a brief moment of struggle in his mind as he attempted to decide whether it would be appropriate to reciprocate the action, but Jim stood before he could reach a conclusion, brushing off the seat of his pants in a manner altogether too distracting for Spock's liking. Or perhaps he liked it too much.

They stopped for the night at the outskirts of a small, quiet town on the border of Nevada, just seven hours short of their destination. "You know, Vegas isn't that far off," Jim remarked, with a casualness too deliberate for innocence. Spock only looked at him patiently, and Jim had sighed ruefully. "Another time, then." There was the suggestion of a promise in his words, and Spock was mystified at the pleasant buzzing sensation it caused in his mind.

The motel Jim selected was likewise small, but respectable enough. The woman behind the counter gave the two of them an odd look when Jim requested a single room, giving Spock a particularly curious look, but professionally said nothing. Jim seemed to find the situation amusing, breaking into quiet chuckles as soon as the elevator doors closed.

"Did you see her face?" Jim chortled, his grin creasing the dust smeared across his skin. "She totally thought we-" His eyes darted to Spock, and he fell abruptly silent.

Spock waited politely, but Jim did not continue and so he did not inquire further into the matter. Let Jim have his mysteries; he certainly had his own.

The room was not much smaller than his own quarters aboard the Enterprise, furnished with a desk, an old holovision set, and two single beds that were, in Spock's opinion, far too close to each other.

Jim declared the room to be satisfactory, and proceeded to claim the bed closest to the bathroom by throwing his duffel upon it, flinging himself facedown next to the bag promptly afterwards. "Ughhhhhhh," he groaned obnoxiously into the covers, toeing off his shoes wearily and letting them clunk dully onto the worn carpet.

"You are still dirty," Spock reminded him, carefully setting his own bag at the foot of the other bed.

Jim turned his head slightly to peer at him with one eye, an undignified snort escaping as he took Spock in. "You can take that off now, you know."

Spock started, his hands lifting to touch the helmet. He had not realized that he was still wearing it. It was no wonder, he deplored, that the receptionist had eyed him so. He pulled the thing off with distaste and placed it down with more force than necessary beside his duffel.

There was another noise of humor from the bed, and he turned with a disapproving frown.

"Helmet hair," Jim wheezed. "God, and I thought it was bad before." He extended an arm towards Spock lazily. "Come here."

Spock hesitated. There was something about the glint in the one blue eye he could see that spoke of mischief.

Jim gestured again, more impatiently, "Come on."

Spock gave up and went obediently to Jim's bedside. Once there, Jim gripped the edge of his jacket, tugging insistently until Spock was forced to kneel out of sheer exasperation. Jim's face was now inches from his own. He could make out every individual eyelash, every grain of dirt caught against the pale outline of where his goggles had sat. Every light freckle against wind-burned skin.

Jim reached out absently, combing through Spock's hair with surprising meticulousness, smoothing down the unruly tufts. Spock, not knowing what else to do, closed his eyes and endured the unexpected grooming. He could feel the warmth of Jim's fingers against his scalp, felt the tickling pressure of his light touch. Once, Spock dared to open his eyes and saw that Jim had turned his face fully towards him, both eyes fixed intently on his task. His gaze dropped down to meet Spock's, and there was something in his expression that Spock could not bear to see...or perhaps he wanted to see it too much.

He did not open his eyes again after that.

At long last, Jim's administrations ceased, and Spock peered at him suspiciously. The human had fallen asleep, his back rising and falling gently with every quiet snore. His mouth had fallen slightly open; there was a smudge of dirt at the corner of his parted lips that Spock found himself staring at.

He stood abruptly, raising a hand unconsciously to his head and sliding his own fingers through his hair. He could feel Jim's phantom warmth still, and paused to examine the stirring his chest at the sensation. He regarded the sleeping man sprawled before him, limbs awry and still clad in his dirty travel clothes.

His options were unfortunately limited at this time.

Spock hesitated for a long, reluctant moment. He then proceeded to shower quietly, encountering only a slight moment of confusion with the controls, and, realizing with annoyance that he had yet to unpack clean clothing, padded over to the bed and looked inside the duffel Jim had insisted on packing for him. He had not protested at the offer, having no necessities with him at the time, but now a certain sense of trepidation was filling him as he unzipped the bag and examined its contents thoroughly for the first time.

The first garment he pulled out was apparently one of Jim's old shirts, judging by the worn state of the fabric. He rubbed the dark material between his fingers in contemplation, then pulled it over his head. The cotton was soft against his face, and it smelled irrationally of Jim.

He did not recognize the peeling logo on the front of the shirt, but it was an irrelevant matter. Digging deeper into the bag, he found himself staring at a pair of undergarments that looked suspiciously familiar. In fact, it was the pair he had found beneath the pillow of Jim's bed that one night. He cast an amused glance at Jim's prone form, and gingerly put on the briefs. Upon discovering that there was not a serviceable pair of trousers within the bag, he resigned himself to be the victim of Jim's unwitting negligence yet again and gave up the task.

Spock went to sleep that night with a prickling awareness of Jim's sleeping form practically an arm's reach away. If he so desired, he could stretch out an arm and touch his face, run his fingertips along that shadowed jaw…..

He rolled away firmly and closed his eyes. Morning seemed altogether too far away.

**A/N: Chemistry. Chemistry everywhere. They're too hot, I can't. I can't not do it. Suggestions for future scenarios are more than welcome. So far I've got wet Jim in a towel and single-bed motel rooms so you have **_**that**_** to look forward to, lol.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: SORRY FOR THE WAIT HOPEFULLY NAKED JIM WILL MAKE UP FOR IT. Used some of you guys' suggestions for this one :) Perhaps this should be the fic known as "In Which Everyone Not-So-Secretly Ships Spirk".**

Day Two

Jim woke the next morning feeling terrible. His face _cracked_ when he grimaced- had he gone to bed without a shower? With a wheezing groan of discomfort, he peeled himself off the mattress, squinting blearily at the dusty outline he had made on the bedspread. It looked like he had. He stretched stiffly with an exaggerated yawn, twisting to the side and-

He froze, mouth open mid-yawn, and gaped at the lump stretched out in the other bed beside him. It was Spock.

Spock was _sleeping_.

Jim stared at the incredible sight a few seconds longer, then scrambled off his bed and walked around to get a better look. Spock slept like a caterpillar, he noted with hilarity, all rolled up in his covers like a threadbare burrito with only a tuft of black hair and half his face sticking out the top. Jim bent over, his hands on his knees, and leaned in closer-

Spock's eyes snapped open.

They stared at each other for a frozen moment. Jim was suddenly aware of how stupid he must look, crouched over and leering creepily at Spock's sleeping face.

"Jim," Spock said finally, very carefully. "What are you doing?"

The sound of his voice snapped Jim out of whatever weird paralysis he had been under. He bolted up straight, running a hand through his dusty hair unconsciously and looking down at the floor, over his shoulder, anywhere but at Spock and his ridiculous burrito position. "I'm….I'm going to shower," he said decisively. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll go do that. We'll, um, we'll go get breakfast after I'm done, okay?"

Spock blinked at him owlishly over the top of the blanket, and sat up abruptly, the burrito folding ridiculously in the process. Jim felt himself grinning stupidly, and couldn't bring himself to try to hide it.

It was only after he finished his shower and reached for the curtain that he realized he had forgotten to unpack clean clothes from his bag. _Idiot_.

He grabbed a white towel and shook it out dubiously, eyeing the short length with suspicion, and wrapped it around his waist. It covered the important bits, at least, but left him feeling awkwardly exposed everywhere else.

He took a deep breath and stepped out boldly from the bathroom in a cloud of steam before he could chicken out. _It's just Spock. He's a dude. He's seen it all before anyway._ The thought wasn't as comforting as he'd hoped it'd be.

Two things he noticed immediately, both of which stopped him full in his tracks in the doorway. He stood gaping, water puddling at his feet.

Spock was standing by his bed, hair tousled and spiking oddly in places, morning stubble shadowing his jaw in an utterly distracting manner, and he was wearing Jim's clothes.

Of course he was wearing Jim's clothes. Jim had _packed _them for him. But somehow he hadn't registered that Spock would actually be wearing them until he saw him, and _man_, was it a sight to see.

They were roughly the same size, Spock maybe a little leaner than Jim across the chest, but the shirt hung a little looser on him than it did on Jim. It was a T-shirt, the first short-sleeved shirt Jim had ever seen Spock in, and the sight of Spock's bare arms did something to Jim that another man's arms should not.

The shirt became a secondary concern when his eyes flicked down to the next item of notice. Spock wasn't wearing any pants. He had a pair of Jim's briefs on- and that was something else Jim hadn't really considered before- and nothing else. His skin was startlingly pale in contrast to the black fabric of the briefs, and Jim's wide eyes lingered too long at the barest trace of a faint green vein along the side of his thigh-

Spock turned and looked at him critically, eyes traversing up and down Jim's body in a clinically interested manner that made Jim suddenly very grateful for the scanty inches of towel he clutched to his waist. He became embarrassingly aware of the drops of water slowly rolling down his shoulders and chest, dripping from his wet hair into his eyes….

Jim blinked rapidly and made his way briskly to his duffel. "Forgot my clothes," he said, as an awkward explanation. Opening his bag with one hand proved to be a difficult task, and with a muttered prayer under his breath, he let go of the towel to unzip the duffel. To his horror, he felt the fabric slipping down over his hips- he made a desperate grab for it, but it was already too late.

There was an awkward moment of silence in which Jim could feel Spock staring nonplussed at his now naked backside. Jim closed his eyes, mortified, and consoled himself with the fact that he could still drown himself in the shower.

He calmly gathered his clothes and, after some fancy maneuvering to avoid flashing Spock any more than he already had, picked up the towel and wrapped it tightly around himself once more.

"You didn't see that," Jim said in a low voice, not daring to turn.

"No," Spock agreed instantly.

There was a very awkward moment following that, during which Jim wildly contemplated the statistical likelihood of diving through a black hole and reversing this very moment through a time warp. Not likely, he concluded with some measure of despair.

Jim cleared his throat. "All right, then." He tried not to notice the burn of Spock's gaze directed at his back as he walked back into the bathroom. He tried to not imagine that gaze drifting south from his shoulder blades, maybe following a stray drop of water down his spine. He tried to not thinking about inviting Spock to shower with him on some reckless, suicidal whim.

He tried to not think in general, and failed spectacularly.

…

Spock had never seen the captain unclothed before.

This is was not an unexpected matter; he doubted that anyone other than perhaps Dr. McCoy had ever looked on Jim unclothed.

That did not change the fact that he had just seen Jim without his clothing.

In a distracted sort of way, Spock had automatically taken in the disheveled, dripping state of the man as he exited the bathroom, noting with a twinge of annoyance that the carpet was growing damp where Jim stood.

And then he really looked, and saw the drops of moisture clinging to flushed, taut muscle, rolling down a broad chest and a firm abdomen, caught in the beginnings of a trail of hair peeking over the top of the blindingly white towel. Or perhaps it had been the sight of Jim that had been blinding.

In any case, Spock was not altogether certain where to look when Jim finally exited the bathroom, his hair still damn and clinging to his neck and an odd flush on his face that Spock did not think was completely due to the steam drifting lazily through the open doorway.

Jim nodded jerkily at Spock, tugging his shirt down over his waistband almost in emphasis, and went to fold his dirty clothes into his bag. Spock waited quietly, his own already packed bag sitting neatly on the foot of his bed. He had donned another pair of these jeans in the meantime, the navy blue jacket Jim had provided for him already donned.

"You ready for breakfast?"

Spock looked up to see Jim watching him expectantly.

"I do not require sustenance at this time," Spock answered carefully. It was true, it was a fact, and he clung to the geometric rationalities of it. He had been feeling much too undefined as of late, lost in unformed musings and half-coherent ramblings. Some stability was not unwelcome at the moment.

Jim shrugged casually. "All right. We'll head out, then."

Spock stood automatically and picked up his bag, then hesitated. "Is it not customary for you to partake in a meal at this time?"

"Nah. I've never been the whole eggs and bacon guy. My mom wasn't much of a cook, either, when I was a kid." Jim turned his back briefly to gather his belongings, and Spock allowed himself to examine his silhouette intently. Even after all this time, Jim remained a mystery to him. As soon as Spock believed he had grasped some aspect of him, another unknown variable appeared, and he would inevitably conclude that he did not understand Jim at all.

When they exited the motel, the first signs of daylight were peeking over the pinking horizon, the air chilled just enough to be comfortable. Spock knew that would change soon enough, and found himself looking forward to the warm rays of sunlight against his face. Earth mornings were altogether too cool for his liking, even in these southern regions.

He stolidly refused to wear the helmet this time, his ears and dignity still smarting from the experience the day before. To his surprise, Jim merely shrugged good-naturedly and stowed the abomination cheerfully in the compartment beneath the seat.

Spock regretted his decision for all of eleven seconds as the wind buffeted at his now unprotected head, his ears throbbing with the engine beneath him. He held onto Jim tightly without further urging, and attempted to resist burying his face against the back of Jim's leather jacket. When he eventually dared to crack his eyes open and straighten, he found that there was a certain degree of adrenaline that accompanied traveling at such high speeds without the smothering reassurance of safety gear. It made his heart pound in his side and his fingers tighten involuntarily against Jim's stomach. Again, as it had yesterday, he sensed Jim's muscles quiver beneath his hands, and wondered distantly if Jim was as conscious as his touch as he was of the man himself.

It was Jim's idea to stop by the shop, two hours later on the road. Spock would have been content to press on, but Jim had already spotted the dubious establishment perched obstinately by the road and insisted on stopping to take a look.

"It is a simple ploy for your money, Jim-"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I strongly advise you to not purchase anything."

Jim snorted. "Spock, I'm a grown man. I think I know how to spend my own money. And besides, we said we'd take it slow today, didn't we?"

And with that, Jim ushered Spock into the gift shop.

It was small and cramped, with a manner of slight dilapidation about its low shelves and dusty lighting. A faint strain of music filled the warm air, a low, murmuring song Spock did not think he was familiar with.

"Welcome to Nevada," droned the young woman perched behind the counter. She glanced up briefly from her tablet, then straightened at the sight at of the two men. "_What_ can I do for _you_?" she added, her tone significantly brighter, Spock noticed. Her wide eyes flicked from Jim to himself, and back to Jim in a way that somehow made Spock uneasy.

"Just looking around," Jim answered cheerfully, utterly oblivious to her interest as he gawked openly at the shelves. "This place is _great_," he said sincerely, his head swiveling from side to side as he attempted to take in the entire shop. "It's got that old-generation touch, you know?"

"Uh huh," the girl agreed distractedly.

Jim moved forward eagerly to peruse the shelves, leaving Spock to his own devices. He hesitated uncertainly in the doorway, reluctant to join Jim in his activities, yet feeling himself towed along by the man's enthusiasm.

In the end, he surrendered to rising curiosity and resignedly selected his own aisle to examine.

It was approximately eight minutes later that he heard Jim's voice. "Oh man!"

At the sound of the reverent exclamation, Spock looked up from the shelf of trinkets proclaiming in various methods the phrase "Welcome to Nevada!" Jim stood in the next aisle, his head bent over something Spock could not see from this angle as he continued to croon over whatever he cradled so very carefully in his hands. His curiosity piqued, Spock circled around the row of shelves to join Jim.

The man was holding a small figurine of a dark-skinned woman clad in a grass skirt and a flower in her hair, her painted smile flashing as her hips bobbled alarmingly.

"Oh _man_," Jim repeated, an incredulous grin splitting his face. "This is awesome!"

Spock squinted at the figurine critically. "There is nothing about this that inspires awe."

"Are you kidding me? This is a classic!" Jim set the item on a shelf and flicked it affectionately, watching the little plastic woman sway to and fro with a childish delight. "We had one of these in our car when I was a kid."

Spock looked at the trinket with increased interest as the familiar beeping of a communicator sounded. For a moment, Jim looked puzzled, then he was muttering a curse and patting at his clothing distractedly. "It's Bones," he said resignedly, when he finally located the device. "Hold on, I've got to take this." He hesitated, hefting the figurine indecisively and glancing longingly at the counter. "Do you mind….?"

"If you are suggesting that I purchase the...item for you, I have no currency with me to do so."

"All right, here, hold on." Jim shoved the figurine in Spock's unwilling hands and shoved his hands in his pockets, fishing about with a look of intense concentration on his face. He withdrew a handful of crumpled bills seconds later and presented them to Spock triumphantly. "There you go. I'll be right outside."

He left Spock standing there with the figurine in one hand and the money in the other, and bustled out the door with McCoy's voice already blazing from the communicator.

The young woman at the counter gave Spock a conspiratorial glance as he paid for the trinket. "This is for your friend, right?"

He looked at her politely. "Pardon?"

"Your friend. With the nice eyes." She tilted her head towards the window display, through which Spock could see Jim as he talked on his communicator. As Spock watched, he tossed his head back and laughed, the faint sound of his voice carrying through the glass. Distracted by the brief flash of Jim's throat, Spock nearly missed the woman's next question.

"You want that wrapped, sir?"

Spock blinked at her, politely puzzled.

She explained kindly, "It's part of the gift service. We have a special couples discount, you know." She looked at him expectantly, and Spock, with a small stir of panic, wished fervently that Jim would come back into the shop and clear up the matter. Clearly there was some sort of exchange under negotiation here that he was not completely comprehending.

His silence merely seemed to buoy the young woman. She winked at him cheerfully before bundling the figurine in an excessively colored bag accompanied with extravagant amounts of pink tissue. "Here you go, sir. He'll_ love_ it."

Spock accepted both the bag and a handful of change without a word, and stepped out quickly through the jingling door before the woman could attempt to initiate further conversation.

Jim was sliding his communicator back in his pocket as Spock approached. He turned at the sound of the closing door, a grin leaping to his face at the sight of the florid bag. "Nice. They do everything like that or did you ask for it special?"

Spock handed over the bag, feeling no less confounded by the whole encounter than he had moments before. "The woman insisted on….wrapping it."

Jim guffawed, rummaging through the volumes of tissue paper and extracting his prize triumphantly. "This will go great on the bridge, don't you think?" He gave the figurine an enthusiastic shake and watched it wobble in fascination. "I'd like to see this thing go at warp speed."

"As long as it is not at my station," Spock said stonily, and Jim gave a short, surprised laugh. Spock enjoyed the sound of Jim's laughter far more than he had any right to, he thought. He did not believe he had ever laughed out loud, himself. It was not something he had ever contemplated before, nor ever concerned himself with, but one could not simply listen to a laugh like Jim's without considering the matter seriously.

Jim insisted on securing the figurine to the front of his motorcycle and, after a few minutes of struggle, managed to fasten it precariously between the handlebars like some figurehead from the age of sea-bound ships.

"You mentioned before that you possessed a similar item in your childhood," Spock said twenty miles later, as they leaned against the parked motorcycle and ate. Jim had waved away Spock's protests and purchased him a box of salad at a gas stop. He picked through the wilted leaves now distastefully, making an effort to consume it under Jim's watchful eye.

There was a short pause before Jim grunted in affirmation, chewing the last mouthful of his sandwich thoughtfully before responding. "I never found out where we got it from. It was one of those things that had always been there, you know? Something you saw every day, but never wondered where it came from." He looked away from Spock to consider the little figurine, and Spock deemed it safe to watch him in turn. The sunlight caught the edges of Jim's hair and lit the tousled strands in burnished gold, lining the curve of his jaw and neck as he rolled his shoulders absently.

Spock snapped his eyes abruptly back to the remnants of his meal when Jim looked towards him expectantly, searching for something to say in response. "There….was a necklace that my mother possessed. A small trinket of no great value, and yet I never saw her without it." He paused to close the box in his hands and set it carefully on the seat of the motorcycle behind him, his appetite utterly diminished now. He could see that necklace now clearly as he spoke, a small glittering locket on a thin golden chain.

"I had always assumed it was a gift from my father, though it was not like him to do such things. It never occurred to me to inquire of its origins." He could feel Jim's eyes on him, and resolutely refrained from turning and meeting his gaze. "It does not matter now, in any case." The necklace had disappeared along with his mother, and with it every mystery and unasked questions.

There was a light touch at the back of his hand, and he moved reflexively towards it, clutching at Jim's hand before it could retreat. Jim's fingers moved between his, bringing their palms flush together, and squeezed reassuringly. Their shoulders bumped, a gentle reminder of Jim's presence, and after a couple more casual brushes, his arm lingered against Spock's and neither of them pulled away.

Spock closed his eyes, reveling in the camaraderie in the moment, the silent gesture that Jim could not possibly know its effects on him. Jim was of a tactile being, perhaps this was common behavior for him, but for Spock…..it was a very different matter altogether. He could feel the rough calluses on Jim's fingertips against his knuckles, the absent swipe of his thumb across tingling flesh, the heat of his skin.

"You loved her," came Jim's quiet voice. It was not a question. Spock opened his eyes, surprised enough to look at him. Jim met his gaze, the sunlight striking his eyes in such a way that Spock's world was temporarily filled with blazing blue.

"You loved her," Jim repeated emphatically. "I'm….back then, I know when I said...what I had to say, you gotta know that I didn't. I didn't mean it." He stumbled slightly over his words, an embarrassed flush rising in his cheeks. Spock could stare, utterly fascinated.

"I'm sorry," Jim finally managed. "About your mom. About what I said...what I said about her."

"It is not your fa-"

"It _is_." Jim tightened his grip on Spock's hand, as if desperate to convey his intent physically. "I shouldn't have said that."

Spock was quiet. He was fully aware of the circumstances revolving Jim's provocation, and understood the necessity of such a task. He had thought the same of Jim, though apparently the other man had quite different thoughts about the matter. Unsure of how to best explain himself, Spock contented himself with nodding tersely and reciprocating the grip Jim still had on his hand.

They came to a certain understanding that day, he later realized. If asked to explain it, he was not certain that he could, and yet the solidity of it was strong in his mind. It was almost tangible, this oath between them. The promise they had made to each other in a white hospital room. The promise to stay.

Every touch was an affirmation, every look a burning reminder. They were bound together, the two of them, by their pasts and their losses and the futures to come. Even now, as the heat of Jim's skin warmed Spock's hand, he could not tell where the grasp of one ended and the other began.

And perhaps, that was the whole point of it all.

**A/N: Pffffff hand-holding, hand-holding abound. I've discovered a newfound delight in it. Also, I'm not going to detail every time they check into a motel unless something significant of the bonding variety occurs, so assume that they had a normal night on this day, I suppose lol.**

**Seriously guys, if any of you actually live in Arizona and would like to give your two cents on what it's actually like to live there, BY ALL MEANS PLEASE INFORM ME. I'm a denizen of the wondrous southeast and therefore have no idea what's going on west of the Mississippi River. Also, if any of you want to see a particular scenario and what not, right now Day Four is completely void of the cute, fluffy, or sexy, so drop me a line if you feel a burning need to have a headcanon exploited.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: GAH my sincere apologies for the wait again. I HEARD YOUR ANGUISHED CRIES AND I DELIVERED. I AM SO SORRY THIS USUALLY NEVER HAPPENS a lot of stuff came up suddenly and I couldn't pull any time to write this. Next update will be a double update because I'm sorry and I love you.**

**To whoever suggested naked swimming, let it be known that I found it quite appealing and so here. Have some swimming. Or flailing, on Spock's part. **

Day Three

The third morning found them once again on the road. Spock had had a sleepless night, the warmth of Jim's hand still burning upon his palm. By the time he had managed to come to his senses, the sun was already rising and Jim was sitting up with a prolonged yawn, his hair tousled from sleep and his jaw shadowed with stubble in a way that should not have been as endearing as it was.

They had set out at dawn with the intent of crossing the mountains by noon, and Spock was now sincerely regretting his decision to let Jim plot their course. He clung doggedly to Jim's waist as the motorcycle puttered up the side of a mountain, wondering maliciously if Jim had intentionally chosen the least accessible road by which to traverse the landform.

Jim was shouting something again.

Spock leaned forward over Jim's shoulder. "What was that?"

"I said, let's go swimming!" Jim hollered, turning his head simultaneously and bashing the side of Spock's face with his goggles. "Ah, hell, I'm sorry-"

"I am unharmed," Spock assured him, blinking rapidly from the blow, and retreated to a safer location. Only then did he realize what Jim had said and cautiously moved forward again. "Swimming?"

"Yeah!"

"Jim," Spock said, a stir of panic rising within his chest. "I can not-"

Jim's whoop of excitement drowned his protests as the motorcycle hurtled down the rocky mountain road. Spock clutched at Jim's waist helplessly as the vehicle jolted wildly, reluctant to speak lest he bite off his own tongue.

The path Jim appeared to be taking winded through a thick forested area, often times barely a road at all. The front wheel of the motorcycle bounced off a root, sending them briefly airborne, and Spock was mentally calculating the trajectory and impact force of their landing automatically before the motorcycle hit ground again and carried on.

Jim braked with a shower of stinging gravel, the motorcycle skidding to a halt halfway down the rocky beach. "_Heck_ yes," he said excitedly, taking in the sight before them with satisfaction.

Spock dismounted stiffly from the motorcycle, his nether regions unpleasantly numbed by the rough journey. The lake before them would be quite a spectacle, he had to reluctantly admit, if it was not also completely predictable. It was wide and flat and glittering as all lakes ought to be, and _wet_.

He did not know how to swim.

He opened his mouth again in an attempt to inform Jim of this crucial fact once more, then blinked as Jim's jacket slapped him in the face. Disgruntled, he pulled the garment off his head in time to see Jim's shirt flying in his general direction. He reached forward and caught it before it could hit the ground, and looked up with increasing impatience to see Jim making for the wooden pier jutting over the waters with wild abandon, tripping over the legs of his pants as he attempted to run and disrobe simultaneously.

Spock should not have been surprised that Jim was not wearing any undergarments, and yet the brief glimpse he received as the jeans went flying startled him beyond comprehension.

"Jim-"

A loud splash drowned out his words as Jim hurled himself bodily from the pier and into the lake, his triumphant cry changing abruptly to a yell of shock as he flailed to the surface. "It's _cold_," he yelped, yet made no efforts to leave the water. Instead, he kicked out farther into the lake, grinning at Spock through chattering teeth. "Come on in."

Spock stood frozen by the motorcycle, clutching Jim's clothing to his chest helplessly. "I would prefer not to."

"What's that?" Jim called, evidently unable to hear him over the sounds of his own splashing. Spock placed the bundle of clothing carefully on the seat of the motorcycle and took a few tentative steps down the pier. "I can not swim, Jim."

Jim reached up and grabbed the end of the pier, hoisting his upper body up from the water and looking at him consideringly. Shimmering droplets clung to his skin, dripping from well-defined muscles that Spock was most definitely not distracted by. "Well, I'll teach you."

Spock eyed the water with increasing alarm. "I assure you, that will not be necessary. My species is simply not compatible with-"

"First time for everything," Jim said cheerfully, and promptly splashed him with a magnificent arc of water.

Spock blinked in shock, too rigid to flinch as the cold water dripped from his face. "You," he began, and stopped. Jim was laughing, the color high in his cheeks from the exertion and the coolness of the water. The sunlight glimmered off the lake and reflected in his eyes, and Spock promptly forgot the reprimand ready at his lips.

"See, now you're wet, so you might as well get in."

"Your reasoning is flawed," Spock informed him, dabbing at his face fruitlessly with his damp shirt.

"Aw, come on, it's really not that bad," Jim tried to persuade him. "Not that cold at all, once you get moving a bit." He stretched out his arm towards Spock, wiggling his fingers enticingly. "Come on, Spock. Just a little bit."

"I will not."

"Spooooock."

"You are being childish."

"I'm always childish," Jim retaliated swiftly, and smiled suddenly with disarming sweetness. "Please?"

Spock glanced at the water dubiously. It looked very cold and very wet. He reluctantly hooked his fingers in the hem of his shirt. Perhaps it would not be as bad as he suspected, if he immersed himself very carefully and very slowly.

"That's it," Jim said encouragingly, as Spock finished undressing and carefully folded his clothes. The air was warm and dry, a slight breeze skimming through his hair, and the sun felt invigorating against his bare skin. He moved warily to the edge of the pier, wondering if Jim would be satisfied if he limited himself to putting his feet in.

A wet hand suddenly wrapped around his ankle, and Spock found himself toppling towards the water at an alarming speed. He had the sense to suck in a startled breath before he plunged into the lake, flailing ungracefully as he hit the water.

A moment of panic clenched around his chest when he felt the water close over his head, threatening to surge up his nose and into his lungs. He struck out instinctively with his limbs and felt a grip on his forearm, tugging him back to the surface.

Spock coughed wetly as soon as his head broke free, barely registering the stream of curses gurgling behind him.

"You really can't swim?" Jim demanded incredulously, as soon as he ran out of expletives, splashing clumsily with his free arm. An irrationally obtuse statement, Spock could not help but think vindictively, as he spluttered and endeavored to expel the last vestiges of water from his lungs, considering that he had _said _so to begin with.

"I believe that I have already informed you of this," he said stiffly, once he was able to speak without coughing. He was slowly becoming aware of Jim's arm locked around his chest, the closeness of his lips from his ear. Reflexively, he tried to shift into a less compromising position, only to sag in resignation when Jim tightened his grip automatically.

"Stay...still," Jim grunted. "You'll drown us both, idiot."

Spock bit back an acerbic remark and allowed Jim to tow them back to the pier, reaching up with dripping hands to grip the wooden planks and steady himself. Even then, Jim did not let go, his chest pressed against Spock's back.

"Sorry about that," he said awkwardly, reaching up with his free arm to hold onto the pier next to Spock's hand. The Vulcan was very quiet, probably restraining the urge to strangle him. He felt terrible, honestly, pulling Spock in like that, but still….

He couldn't suppress the chuckle that shook through him, bouncing his chin against Spock's shoulder as he lowered his head in an attempt to stifle it.

"How could this possibly amuse you?" Spock demanded, turning his head just enough to eye Jim suspiciously. Jim felt his laugh hitch in his throat, suddenly aware of how close they were. Damn, though, Spock looked good like this, as flustered and green as he was. His hair was slicked back, water dripping down pale skin. Jim hadn't even noticed the day-old stubble Spock was gathering, but it was _hot_-

"The way you looked, man," he chortled, unwinding his arm from Spock's waist and floating out a little ways, grinning. "Flopping into the lake like that."

Spock didn't dignify him with a response, turning instead to haul himself out of the lake.

"Wait, you're not staying in?" Jim protested.

"As we have already established, Jim, I cannot swim. It is illogical of me to remain in the lake when I could be dry elsewhere," Spock pointed out snidely, and climbed back onto the pier. Jim watched, slightly disappointed, but _man_ the view was nice. Spock had a great ass, really, and the way it looked now, water dripping down his legs and damn, the rest of his body was pretty fantastic, too.

"You should not leave your skin unprotected," Spock was telling him now, standing on the pier with his hands on his hips and frowning down at him disapprovingly.

Jim flailed dismissively, splashing himself in the face and spluttering subtly as it went up his nose. "I'm fine."

Up went a dripping eyebrow. "Solar radiation is strong in this region of the country. It would be wise to take precautions."

"Wise is overrated." Jim turned in the water, giving the lake a considering squint. "You think I could lap this in an hour?"

"Negative, Jim. It is far more likely that you would succumb to exhaustion and drown."

Jim couldn't help but snort at that. "Spock, you're the light of my days, I ever tell you that?"

There was a silence, and Jim indulged himself in a quick paddle under the pier and back out on the other side, pushing wet hair back from his face as he resurfaced. Spock was watching him, he saw, as he blinked away the water dripping into his eyes. "What?"

"You did not, in fact, inform me of that fact." Spock sat down carefully, dipping his feet into the water with the air of someone performing a horrifying task, and frowned down at his immersed ankles in deep concentration.

"Well," Jim said finally, caught off guard by the unexpected statement. "You are."

In the end, Spock never did get back into the lake, but he didn't make a move to leave the pier, either, and Jim paddled around for a good hour or so before deeming himself too wrinkly and hungry to continue.

They continued on that afternoon for a few hours more, Spock clinging gingerly to Jim's damp back and blinking at the occasional droplet of water flicking back against his face.

There was, bizarrely, a fireplace burning in the lobby of the next motel they paused at, despite their geographical location, and Spock crowded close to the warm flames while Jim leaned over the counter and flirted shamelessly with the receptionist.

Eventually, they did make it up to the room, where the single bed in the center of the room stopped Spock dead in his tracks.

"What?" Jim demanded from behind him, a tinge of annoyance in his voice at the abrupt stop. He squeezed his way through and tossed his duffel on the bed without a second look. "You good with the right side? I'm used to the left."

"There is one bed," Spock stated.

Jim turned and looked at him curiously. "Yeah, they're out of doubles, so I told them a single was fine. Is that a problem? I don't snore, I promise."

Snoring was the least of Spock's concerns, and he told Jim as much.

Jim continued to look mystified. "Is this like a Vulcan thing? Personal space violation or something?"

It was something like that, and yet not at all, but Spock could not seem to find the words required to properly explain his dilemma. In the end, he contented himself with a small shake of the head. "It is nothing."

"Okay, then." Jim eyed him a moment longer, then shrugged. "I'm going to shower. That okay with you?"

Spock nodded his affirmation and gingerly set his bag on his side of the bed as Jim ducked into the bathroom. It was, he noticed with no small degree of alarm, not a very large bed. At most, they would be able to lie on their backs with only a small space between them. He would be able to feel Jim's warmth through the scant inches, hear every shift of fabric against skin, every breath, every sleepy murmur-

"Hey, you okay?" Jim's voice broke through his thoughts.

He looked up into Jim's concerned expression. "I am fine, Jim." It was not quite a lie, but nor was it wholly truth, and the fact that the ambiguity did not bother him to excess was troubling in itself.

Jim stared at him, an odd look in his eyes. "You sure?"

"Affirmative."

Jim hesitated, then shrugged again and retracted his head back into the bathroom. A moment later, Spock heard a loud curse from within, somewhat muffled by the rushing water. He shook himself out of his horrified contemplation of the bed and tilted his head inquisitively towards the closed door. "Jim?"

"Son of a- I've got the mother of all sunburns, damn it!" came the strangled groan.

"I did warn you."

"Shut up- ow, _shit_."

Several minutes later, a shirtless and irked Jim reemerged in a cloud of steam, his face and neck a shade of indignant pink verging on red and his back considerably even more so, Spock noted.

"Ow, ow, ow," Jim muttered, as he tentatively toweled at his back.

Spock eyed him severely. "Perhaps next time you will find it more prudent to apply-"

"Shut up, Spock," Jim groaned pathetically, hurtling the towel in the corner in a sullen fit. "Check the bathroom for some of that...what is it, aloe? The lotion should have it."

Spock went compliantly to inspect the contents of the bathroom, which did indeed possess lotion. "It contains ten point six percent," he read aloud from the label. "Is that satisfactory?"

"I'd take one percent at the moment," Jim griped, sitting down on the bed and gesturing impatiently. "Hand it over."

Spock hesitated, turning the small bottle over in his hands. "Perhaps I should assist."

Jim stared at him for a long moment, his expression unfathomable. "What?"

"It would increase the efficiency of the task by forty-six percent," Spock argued reflexively, unsure what he was even arguing for. "Unless you possess the ability to dislocate your shoulders at will, it is illogical to believe that you will be able to administer the treatment to the entirety of your back alone."

Jim blinked at him slowly, and Spock felt a cold prickle of anxiety in his chest before the man nodded slowly. "All right. How do you want to do this?"

Spock, taken aback by the easy compliance, took a moment to analyze the situation critically. "I believe it would be best if you were to recline here…" He directed Jim onto the bed, the human stretching out gingerly on his belly, curling his arms under the pillow. His legs were too long to properly fit on the mattress, his crossed ankles dangling a full two inches off the edge.

After taking a moment to regret extending the offer at all, Spock straddled Jim's waist awkwardly, his knees dimpling the mattress on either side of Jim's legs, and he hovered there uncertainly for a moment, not quite daring to settle his weight. Jim twisted his head to peer at Spock over his shoulder, the muscles of his reddened back flexing and rolling with the motion, and Spock found himself watching the play of shadows down the dip of Jim's spine with blatant fascination.

"What are you waiting for?" Jim demanded, wriggling his hips in an utterly distracting manner.

"My apologies," Spock murmured, snapping his eyes back to his own hands. He concentrated on squeezing out a sufficient quantity of ointment from the bottle onto his palms, the smell of aloe tingling in the air as he inhaled.

Jim made a small noise as Spock drizzled some of the cool lotion onto his back. Spock stopped immediately, uncertainty flooding his mind. "Was that unsatisfactory?"

"No," Jim breathed, his voice muffled against the pillow pressed against his face. "No, that was...that's just fine, Spock."

Slightly emboldened, Spock flattened his hands against Jim's shoulders, feeling the unnatural heat emanating from the skin beneath his palms. He worked the salve into Jim's flesh, striving to ignore the quickly stifled moan emitting from the pillow.

He attempted to ignore the small freckle on the right side of Jim's spine, two and a half inches beneath his shoulder blade. He looked pointedly away from the gentle swell of flesh just above Jim's waistband that barely hinted at what lay beneath. He recited the periodic table of elements silently to draw his attention away from the slow breaths Jim was taking, every hitch in his inhales evident whenever Spock reached a particularly sensitive spot.

Strive as he did, it was physically impossible to ignore the aesthetics of Jim's body. It was not perfect by any means, his skin marked with small scars and one longer one that curved around his ribs and under his shoulder. Spock subtly traced the end of it with his thumb, feeling a strange thrill of satisfaction when Jim made a choked, surprised sound, his back arching slightly under Spock's touch.

Halfway down Jim's back, Spock discovered a tight knot of tension and pressed down on it automatically, rolling down with his knuckles. To his shock, Jim let loose a full-throated groan, his back arching against the light pressure before melting deeper into the mattress. "Yeah...yeah, do that again," he gasped, the pace of his breathing significantly faster.

Spock swallowed with an audible click in his throat, his hands shaking slightly as he repeated the motion, rubbing away the tension with his palms afterwards as Jim vocalized his satisfaction.

There were three more knots along Jim's spine, one dangerously close to his hips, and Spock hesitated briefly before working it out, pushing his thumbs against the tight muscle and smoothing it out. Jim sighed and his hips shifted imperceptibly against the mattress, barely enough to constitute as a reaction, and yet-

Spock's mind swiftly derailed at that point. Jim's back gleamed with a thin layer of lotion, a small pool of it in the dip of his spine. Impulsively, Spock dragged his knuckles through the excess lotion and up the length of Jim's back, giving the base of his neck a firm squeeze and feeling the body beneath him shudder in...surprise? Pleasure? It would be so easy to find out, a simple lowering of his mental shields...

"Spock," Jim whispered, his voice strained. His hips pressed against the mattress again, very slightly, but the small movement snapped Spock back to clarity. He blinked down at his own hands, still resting possessively over Jim's shoulders, and drew back with a shaky inhale, sliding abruptly off the bed. "That should do, Captain."

"Y-Yeah. Thanks." Jim peeled himself off the mattress awkwardly, facing away from Spock as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Spock glanced away as he stood, focusing on a blank spot on the wall with deadly intent until he heard the click of the bathroom door

…

Jim sat down heavily on the edge of the bathtub and set his head in his hands, rubbing the heels of his palms fiercely into his eyes. What the hell. Had happened.

It was a back rub. A simple, practical, normal back rub between friends.

Did friends give each other back rubs? Hot back rubs? Not that it was hot- but, who was he kidding, it _had_ been hot.

He glared down balefully between his legs, cursing himself thoroughly. He wasn't going to ruin this trip with Spock by jumping him, he _wasn't_.

He'd be damned if he didn't look at lotion the same way again after that, though.

By the time he managed to talk himself out of leaving the bathroom, Spock had extinguished the lamps, sitting under the covers on the right side of the bed with his hands folded serenely in his lap. He looked up at the sound of Jim's approach, and for a moment, Jim had a wild vision of a bride in her wedding bed and resisted the urge to slap himself.

He managed to get in the other side of the bed without making a fool out of himself and wiggled down awkwardly under the sheets at the very edge of the mattress. "Don't hog the blankets," he said with a nervous laugh.

Spock looked indignant that he would even dare to suggest a thing, and settled himself down with a miffed expression. "I will not."

Jim stared up at the ceiling for a moment, then barked a startled laugh. "Haven't done this since the Academy when I roomed with Bones."

"You shared a housing residence with Dr. McCoy?"

Jim glanced at him and was oddly disappointed to see that Spock was facing away from him. He quickly found, though, that there were distinct advantages to this, since now he was free to ogle Spock as much as he wanted to without the danger of being spotted, and proceeded to do so wholeheartedly. "Yeah. Grouchiest three years of my life," he said absently, rolling on his side so he could better trace the slight curve of Spock's spine with his eyes.

"And on what occasion did you share your sleeping accommodations?" Spock definitely sounded weird that time, and Jim thought for a moment before a grin spread over his face.

"Heater broke in December. You know, those Academy dorms really had crappy heating systems." He eyed the scant six inches between him on the mattress and dared to shift a little closer to Spock. "He's a terrible sleeper, really. Kicked me out of bed six times in one night."

Spock said nothing, and Jim waited until he began to think that maybe the Vulcan had fallen asleep. Then, predictably, Spock chose that very moment to speak. "I do not consider myself to be a particularly turbulent sleeper. You have no need to worry."

Some hours later, Jim concluded that Spock was a terrible liar.

_Not a turbulent sleeper, my ass,_ Jim thought sourly, grimacing as a bony elbow prodded his ribs sharply for the third time. It was, he noted with an irritated glance at the chrono, three in the morning, and he was still very much awake.

Spock made a quiet snuffling sound and rolled over to face Jim, stealing half the covers in the process as he tried to convert himself into the ever-familiar burrito state, and Jim found himself automatically shifting closer in an attempt to stay warm.

He stiffened slightly in surprise when he felt a hand snake out from the burrito to tuck unconsciously over his hip and opened his eyes suspiciously. Spock appeared to be asleep, the ever-present crease between his eyebrows only slightly smoothed over, and Jim was seized with a mad urge to press his lips to the spot. He mentally slapped himself and guiltily allowed himself to curl closer, excusing the movement with the thought of getting under what was left of the covers.

And if Spock woke approximately one point six hours later and found himself with a faceful of Jim's hair, it was his fault for being a blanket hog.

**A/N: Still taking requests! I'll take one more, I think, so knock yourselves out.**


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